


Chemistry

by Anarchisticaubergine



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M, POV Alternating, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-23 20:17:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18557089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anarchisticaubergine/pseuds/Anarchisticaubergine
Summary: The Blackhawks are once again an elite team, but something's changed between the two stars since the last time around.





	Chemistry

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everybody, this is my first work so apologies if my characterization is shitty. Not sure how many chapters I'll get to yet, but hope you enjoy, and let me know what you think!

"YEAH, TAZER!" Pat whooped, wheeling around to body slam him, beaming. “ATTA’ BOY!” he shouted into Johnny’s ear over the resounding blare of the goal horn. Johnny was wearing a face-splitting grin as the rest of his linemates caught up with Kaner, engulfing him in an exuberant group hug. Around them, the arena was screaming themselves hoarse as the board showed 4-2 with two minutes remaining, practically cementing their victory against Toronto.

Done celly-ing, he and Kaner skated along the bench to bump mitts with everyone then shuffled on for line change, where Caggs immediately started chattering Johnny’s ear off about the goal, and how they had to keep their lead now they had it. Johnny, exhausted but exhilarated, nodded along and agreed mindlessly with everything he said.

On his other side, Pat was watching the play intensely, but with a light in his blue eyes that had been practically vacant last year. But that wasn’t true – they hadn’t been entirely empty. Just frustrated, exhausted, and with an air of anxiety that the good old days were truly gone, and the hockey gods had deemed three cups more than enough for two aging Hawks.

Not this year. Everyone had been in high spirits, walking around with their heads up and speaking positively to media. Johnny knew it wasn’t even halfway through the season and that false confidence could be a danger, but he couldn’t help himself. Everyone had been training vigorously through the post season, determined not to suffer the embarrassment of last year’s performance. They’d come back stronger than ever, built back line chemistry to the point of near telepathy, and had led the central since October by a fair margin. 

Besides, more dangerous than false confidence was a lack of faith in your team. Johnny had learnt that the hard way, so excuse his optimism. These thoughts had just finished running their course through his head as he witnessed DeBrincat execute a perfect turnover at the blue line, then break for the goal, to the fumbling of the over-extended Leafs. Brinksy deked around Gardiner, the only defender remaining in front of him, and lifted it top-left shelf. When the buzzer blared for 5-2, Johnny was on his feet in an instant, yelling his congratulations. He glanced beside him to see Kaner doing the same, face flushed with excitement and exertion, the blond curls peeking out of his helmet plastered to his forehead.

Pat glanced over at him with a stupid grin plastered on his face. “We raised him well!” he shouted, gesturing to the pile of Hawks where, somewhere, Alex was buried. Johnny snorted, but wore a matching flush and grin of pride. After the timer had run out on the game, he found he couldn’t stop smiling, not as they completed the obligatory handshake circuit, nor as they headed down the tunnel to the locker room. Seabs chirped him for it, asking “Toews, see something you like?” and wiggling his towel-clad hips at Johnny’s dazed grin. Johnny raised his eyes and brows and replied, deadpan, “Yeah, your mum in the stands wearing my jersey.”

The room ‘oohed,’ everybody letting out a few chuckles. Seabs rolled his eyes and declared that it wasn’t even clever or original, to which Johnny replied “Doesn’t have to be if it’s true” which raised more snickers. Seabs was laughing too, and cracked the rattail he had made of his towel against Johnny’s ass as he turned to leave, making him jump.

“Oops, sore?” Seabs asked innocently, as Johnny flipped him off and his teammates laughed again. A few minutes after exiting United Centre and heading to his Mercedes, Johnny’s phone buzzed. He checked it, whistling, to find a text from Pat reading “ _u coming out tonite? for drinks, not to seabrook ;)"_.

Rolling his eyes, Johnny texted back “ _He’d be lucky to have me. Where’s drinks?_ ”

Pat’s response was a minute or so. “ _Lynk_ ”

Johnny groaned aloud. Lynk was a new club that his younger teammates (and Kaner) loved, but he hated. It was totally dark except for some sparingly placed neon lighting, practically every patron vaped, reducing the already limited visibility, and there were no tables or chairs, forcing you to either stand at the circular bar, in a corner, or to dance. Plus, although he would never admit it, between the drunken chatter and loud EDM it was impossible for Johnny to hear anything anyone said to him, which was frustrating and made him feel old.

But… despite his less than positive feelings about the place, Johnny was still buzzing off the win and wanted to celebrate with his team. So he texted Pat back an affirmative and was instructed to arrive in and hour and a half, at 10:30, and not to drive. Johnny went home to his condo, changed into jeans and a black button-up with the first three buttons undone. He ran some product through his hair, and slung on a sports jacket.

 

He arrived in front of the club at exactly 10:31, bypassing the bouncer and navigating the throng of moving, sweaty bodies to the bar, where he found Kunitz attempting and failing to flag down the bartender, who had green hair and large gauge earrings. Johnny hadn’t spent much time with Kuny, as the team had adopted calling him, but he seemed like a decent guy. They raised their voices to chat casually over the music for a few minutes about the game, Matthew’s expression after the fourth goal, and Chris’s kids.

“Payton’s been really into soccer recently,” he commented. “Whenever she wants to play I pretend I’m going easy on her, but really she’s just better than me.” Johnny chuckled, then turned when he felt someone grab his shoulder to see Pat had come up behind them. He pointed a mockingly stern finger at Kunitz and declared “No talk of wives or children at the club.”

Kunitz snorted and replied, “Whatever, Kaner” before redoubling his efforts to snag the bartender’s attention. Johnny took in Pat’s appearance. He was wearing dark slacks and dress shoes with a navy-blue polo that had all the buttons undone. He had the healthy flush of a lightly tipsy person, and he had finally stopped slicking his hair back until it looked like he was trying to peel it off his scalp. Instead, his yellow curls bounced around and framed his face, taking a few years off his look. He looked… good. Happy.

“Where did you find alcohol?” Johnny asked, amused. “Pre-game?”

Kaner snorted and shook his head. “Where did I get alcohol? At the club?”

From a few feet away Kunitz called “Yeah, doesn’t this bar have a height requirement? That’s just irresponsible.”

Pat gave him the finger while Johnny concealed a grin. “Kuny’s been trying to call the bartender for the last twenty minutes.”

Pat gestured to the other side of the round bar. “Lady bartender across there, big hockey fan. Honestly, guys.”

Johnny rolled his eyes, but couldn’t deny results when Kane left and returned with a tray of shots.

He and Kunitz, admitting defeat, each reached for one, but Pat slid them out of reach, saying “Who says any of these are for you? Gotta figure out how to procure your own drinks, boys.”

Johnny raised an eyebrow. “So you’re going to do…” _2, 4, 6,_ “Seventeen shots all on your own?”

“Hey, I deserve it! Goal and an assist tonight.” Pat stated proudly, leaning against the bar.

“Never said you didn’t deserve the alcohol poisoning,” Johnny chirped back, grinning. “And I had a goal, too.”

“Off of my dope pass! And if seventeen shots are going to give you poisoning, you should really invest in a stronger liver.”

“Ladies, ladies!” Kunitz interrupted. “Enough, you’re both pretty. Now let’s drink!”

He snuck a whiskey off Kaner’s tray, gulping it down and earning himself a night of ribbing for the ‘pretty’ comment.

As the night progressed, Johnny managed to get somewhat drunk and cycled through teammates, patting them on the back and having a good time despite himself. Everybody bought a drink for Brinks (which quickly became a shouted slogan to the easily amused, wasted hockey players) and Alex was swaying by 12:00. Pat grumbled that they didn’t buy him drinks for goals anymore, to which Johnny responded, “Your goal wasn’t as cool. Also, if we had to buy you drinks for every time you scored, we’d all be broke.”

Kaner paused for a moment to try to puzzle out whether that was a compliment or not, decided it was, and thumped Johnny on the back in thanks.

Around 2:00 a.m., Johnny decided it was time to call it quits. He’d already been drunk enough to be awkwardly forced onto the dance floor, which actually hadn’t been terribly unpleasant, and watched Pat and Saad warble out some unrecognizable karaoke, so he judged the night complete. Johnny made a general announcement of his departure to the team, some of whom raised their glasses and called goodbyes in acknowledgement.

As he had reached the door through the mass of people, he felt hot breath on his neck and turned, half-expecting to find some chick looking to score a hockey player. As much as he disliked the term puck bunny – it was stupid and degrading – he had to admit those girls did exist and could be hard to shake. Instead, though he found himself looking into the slightly hazy eyes of Kaner who seemed startled that Johnny had turned so fast.

“What’s up, Kaner?” he asked, a little too quietly. The words seemed to get caught in his throat and he coughed, blaming it on the drinking and shouting.

Pat understood him though, and gestured to the door. “Calling it a night.” He responded, also a little hoarse. “Are you getting an Uber?”

“Yeah, I already phoned.” Johnny replied. He hesitated a moment, then offered “Wanna share?”

He and Kaner had both, at one point, moved out of Trump Tower and into their own grown-up houses, but both had found the property management and distance from downtown boring. Although they had known about each other’s plans to sell their respective properties, neither had informed the other about where they were moving to, and since the moving had gone down over the summer, none of their teammates that knew had the opportunity to mention it. So, after moving back into Trump Tower, Johnny had left his penthouse to find that he was once again sharing the building with Pat.

The team had found it hilarious, especially Seabs, who joked that the relationship hiatus was over and Kane and Toews were finally living together again. A few days after the teasing had started, an assistant coach had pulled Johnny aside and told him he was glad they were living in the Tower again, that they would be going back on a line and he wanted to see the old chemistry of legend spark back up. Hopefully coexisting in the same space would do just that.

Johnny attempted to point out that they weren’t actually living together, despite what their teammates claimed, weren’t even floormates, but the assistant coach just clapped him on the shoulder and wandered off.

Since discovering their cohabitation, not much had changed. Occasionally, they would catch a ride to the barn together - Kaner always drove, citing the car accident of 2012 as reason not to get in a car with Toews behind the wheel. Personally, Johnny thought that Pat was just a tiny control freak who liked to feel big by driving his massive Hummer around the city. He had said as much to Kaner, who just scoffed, confirming his theory. And people claimed Johnny was uptight.

But other than occasional carpooling, they hadn’t seen much more of each other than before the move. Back when they were in their prime, winning cup after cup and building a dynasty, they had spent a lot of time around each other and were honestly good friends. But after the first move, some changes in lineup, and the beginning of the slump, they had drifted away from their former status as inseparable, unconquerable giants of the NHL and into simply casual friends and teammates.

Now, they were adjusting slightly back towards those days while on the ice, but outside of hockey they hadn’t quite returned to ‘BFF status’, as Seabs would say. They still liked each other’s company, but didn’t actively seek it out. Johnny sensed in Kaner’s coolness an unwillingness to go all the way back in time, an instinct Johnny understood and agreed with. Things hadn’t been perfect.

But he was interrupted from these musings by Pat’s response, a nod in the affirmative. They made their way out of the sweaty heat of the club and into the cold November night. The change in atmosphere made Johnny dizzy for a moment as his lungs filled with crisp fall air, and Kaner seemed similarly affected, scrunching up his face then taking a deep breath. A couple teammates ventured outside to talk while they waited for their own transportation, including DeBrincat, who was extremely unsteady on his feet and slurring his chatter.

Luckily, Forsling assured him quietly that he was taking Brinks to crash at his own apartment, as Alex couldn’t currently remember his own address. Pat muttered “That’s what he gets for scoring cool goals,” making Johnny snort indelicately. Johnny was relieved to know at least their star rookie wasn’t going to be found dead in a gutter somewhere, and also that it wasn’t him who would have to handle the hammered kid.

Finally, a black SUV pulled up with a license plate matching the one on Johnny’s phone. He and Kaner said good night to the guys and got in the Uber, directing the driver to Trump Tower. Pat was quiet for most of the ride, but when Johnny glanced over, he saw Pat’s lips were curved slightly in a soft smile, and he relaxed with his own small grin. It had been a good night.

 

When they arrived in front of the Tower, Johnny got out and was hit with a powerful sense of déjà vu, standing beside Kaner, at the doors of the building. He shook it off and glanced at Pat beside him, who had a vaguely queasy look on his face. “Coming?” Johnny asked as he stepped over the curb toward the glass doors.

Kaner followed him in through the lobby, stumbling slightly over the threshold of the elevator. Johnny caught his elbow to stabilize him and Pat waved him off, mumbling that he was fine, and he’d only had eight shots.

“Not the full seventeen, Kerouac?” Johnny asked, amused. Kaner rolled his eyes and huffed when that only served to unbalance him more. Johnny, in his inebriated state, found it strangely endearing. They thankfully traveled towards the 49th floor without interruption, likely because it was 2:00 a.m.. Pat leaned against the wall of the elevator and stared at his shoes the whole way, almost certainly in an attempt not to throw up.

When the elevator finally dinged open, they both stumbled out and down the hall. Pat was yawning as they arrived in front of Johnny’s door. He had just unlocked his door when he realized something and turned to look at Pat and say “You don’t live here.”

Pat stared back at him for a moment, then groaned at the prospect of having to make it all the way back to the elevator then up to his condo. Johnny winced at his plight and suggested “You’re welcome to crash, man.”

Kaner paused for a moment, staring somewhat longingly through the door to Johnny’s place, where a comfortable guest bedroom awaited, but shook himself out of it and reluctantly refused, citing that his own bed was only a minute away and he’d be annoyed tomorrow morning by his own laziness. “Night, Tazer,” he yawned, turning to trudge back to where they’d come from.

“Night, Kaner,” Johnny replied affectionately. “Drink some water!” he called at Pat’s retreating back.

Without turning, Kaner flapped his hand and responded sarcastically, “Yes, _mom_ ,” to Johnny’s valuable advice. Johnny shook his head, stepped inside the penthouse, and closed the door, smiling.


End file.
